


Back safe

by neverloveawildone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverloveawildone/pseuds/neverloveawildone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, that's just great, let's put Stiles back in the playpen, because the big kids are off to play rough," Stiles shouts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back safe

**Author's Note:**

> My first shot at this pairing. Just a short little thing.

  
"You're not coming."  
  
"But... what, come on! Everyone's going! And don't tell me there isn't enough room because Allison's sitting on Scott's lap and Erica's on Boyd's lap, and I don't even want to know what Isaac is doing in the middle."  
  
"It's too dangerous for you."  
  
"But Allison gave me the stun gun! She even had me practice with it!"  
  
"You're not strong enough, Stiles," Derek's growl gets rougher, more impatient. They're standing about ten feet from the clown car (also known as Derek's Camaro) stuffed full of werewolves and a hunter, and Stiles knows all of them are eavesdropping on this argument, and it only makes the anger and shame burn brighter. He clenches his jaw, feels his nails digging into the palm of his hand, and it hurts, and it makes him even more angry because yes, he's human, he's breakable in a way the others aren't, and he hates feeling this helpless, this _useless_.  
  
"Well, that's just great, let's put Stiles back in the playpen, because the big kids are off to play rough," he shouts, and he doesn't even care how petulant he sounds, because it's hard to control his emotions when so many people he cares about are going off to face danger and he's not allowed to go with them.  
  
He expects Derek to shout back at him. He's even braced for it, when he sees the way Derek's jaw clenches. But Derek huffs out a breath, shoulders loosening, and steps toward him. "I'll take care of them, I promise," he says, his hand landing on Stiles' neck, thumb rubbing right where his skin is most sensitive.  
  
And wow, it's like someone just turned Stiles' brain off and he's lost track of the conversation, and all his blood is either rushing to his face or to other, southern, regions and he hopes to god no one's paying any attention to his scent or heartbeat or anything, because those latent feelings he might have been harboring towards a certain sourwolf have become a lot less... latent.  
  
"Hey," he starts, but he can't very well say, _don't think you can distract me by touching me so I get distracted by inappropriate thoughts._ He licks his lips in confusion, trying to get his brain to work, because it's melted into a fuzzy puddle, radiating from where Derek's hand is still warm and soothing on his neck.  
  
"Stiles, please," Derek says, and there's something in his tone, something sincere and worried, and it's there in his eyes too. His eyes, which aren't Alpha red, but are that stormy, muddy color that's all Derek, greys and greens and blues and golds. He comes even closer, and Stiles has a hard time drawing a breath without shuddering, but he holds absolutely still, unsure about what's happening.  
  
He feels Derek's stubble, and then the unmistakeable feel of Derek's lips on his forehead. "I need you to be safe," Derek murmurs, and underneath the gruffness, there's a hint of a plea that curls warmly in the pit of Stiles' stomach.  
  
"I'm promise they'll all be back."  
  
"You too," Stiles says, his voice thick with emotion. "Ugh, fucker, you promise you'll be back safe too," he repeats, letting his hands clench tightly on Derek's leather jacket.  
  
"I will," Derek says, stepping away, letting the cool air between them again.  
  
Stiles feels like a maiden waving farewell to her knight as he goes off to war, so he puts on his grumpiest, most sarcastic face to compensate for how his heart is thundering. "You better," he pouts.  
  


...

  
  
He doesn't sleep until Derek climbs into his window, sits on his bed, shirt a bit bloody, but otherwise mostly whole, and pats his head.  
  
Stiles sits up, and before he can lose the nerve, plants a kiss on Derek's cheek, lips dragging slightly against the stubble. Then he huffs, pulls the blankets around himself and turns away, pretending to sleep.  
  
He falls asleep before the weight on the other side of the bed is gone.  
  


...

 


End file.
